


Just an Onahole

by 12AnteMeridiem



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Shadowrun Fusion, Aphrodisiacs, Breeding, Cybernetics, Cyberpunk, F/F, Fear, Furry, Futanari, Hacking, Human, Impregnation, Knot, Knotting, Mild Gore, Mind Manipulation, Onahole, Other, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rough Sex, Shadowrun - Freeform, Shemale, White Wolf - Freeform, android gore, dickgirl, stimulation, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12AnteMeridiem/pseuds/12AnteMeridiem
Summary: What was supposed to be a simple act of corporate sabotage takes a quick and savage turn for the worst. Knocked out cold and with a callous, unconcerned gene-modded beast of a mercenary jacked into her cranial implants, a cyborg shadowrunner is disassembled and remade into the reeking, fat knotted brute's personal cumdump, turned on and off at will.





	Just an Onahole

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time coming, and that's funny, considering this story was done almost a month and a half ago. WoW Classic has been eating up a lot of my time, and I just haven't had the energy to bother making tags and uploading a new story to Ao3. Maybe in time, I'll get into the groove and slap somethin' new up once I find some like ... Appropriate inspiration.
> 
> Anyway, onto the references.
> 
> https://i.imgur.com/g7x7rg5.jpg is for the mercenary, duh.  
https://i.imgur.com/jRosC4c.jpg is for the runner.
> 
> I tried to look up where the first one was from, but I can't find the artist again, so RIP. The second one is deeeefinitely ButchaU's work. Both of them are fantastic.

It’s hot.

Unbearably hot.

Have you ever touched hot metal?

Sure you have. Accidentally touched a baking tray, or maybe just the heat of a ceramic plate you left in the microwave a little too long is a good sort of analogy.

Tasted smoke? Been in a sauna?

Crawling hand over hand in a tight metal space, with synthetic forearms burning wasn’t how Broadside intended to spend this run. Vent monkeying was something usually left to elves and dwarves, not chromed up deckers with just enough body left to be considered human.

It hurt. All wired up with synthetic nerves, and having dumped a few extra hundred nuyen on very believable flesh, the runner was baking as she rattled through the tight confines of the vent system. It wouldn’t have been as bad if she’d known what was in the package the johnson had given her.

Kicking herself now wouldn’t do her any good. She’d delivered the bomb, and loitered too long trying to make a smooth exit. And now, for her trouble, she was crawling through the ceiling vents of a burning room, the metal only getting hotter under her. Acrid smoke from fried electronics, and sensitive prototype matrix switches billowing past her.

She didn’t need to cough, at least. Her sinus filters did an excellent job of keeping the air pure, even if it did feel like she had a stuffy nose all the time.

Skintight bodysuit sticking and melting to the metal beneath her, she finally reached a grate. She’d been climbing horizontally for long enough to clear the tech lab, which meant it was time to move quickly.

Drawing herself up onto her feet in a tight, limber squat, the shadowrunner splays out her hands and kicks out hard. Hydraulic-assisted legs shear the metal screws right apart, and the grille clatters to the floor.

Craning her neck out, she looks cautiously both ways. First left, and then a hint of what looks like white, canine paws with black tactical wraps as she turns to the right.

There’s a grunt of exertion and a sickening crunch. The feeling of intense, throbbing pain in the back of her neck as, suddenly, her entire body locks up and goes dead.

It’s hot again. Oozing down the small of her back. She feels it through dulled nerves as she crashes into a heap on the floor, face first, ass up.

There’s a predatory, low growl of victory as the white furred gen-eng beast prowls a little closer.

The dull feeling of a foot in her stomach as she’s roughly turned over, still paralyzed by the strike to the neck. Her vision crackles as her implants start leaking voltages from her spinal links being frayed. Suddenly, the runner realizes she can’t even blink.

She’s not stunned.

Paralyzed.

Panic rapidly sets in. As much as a borderline cyborg can feel panic. The computer side of her brain running risk analyses a thousand times a second.

Above her, towering over her at a good 7 or eight feet tall, is a genetically engineered white wolf anthropomorph. Pierced up with enough silver to buy a half decent smartlink rifle, the muscular brute runs her golden eyes over her salvage with a wicked smirk.

Wearing a thick ballistic vest, duty belt, and a pair of cargo shorts, the beast screams ex military, clearly overcompensating for the years of short hair, no tattoos and having to scrub her balls by going all out with the street grunge aesthetic. Not a corporate goon. Not a runner. But something in between, and a good deal more dangerous.

Just some SINning merc with loose morals in the right place.

“Shit …”

The wolf nods appreciatively, looking over the high grade bodysuit and the heavy pistol on the cybered up runner’s hip.

“... That 100% scavenging rights clause is suddenly looking like it’ll balance the books after all.”

Kneeling down, the brute places a knee on the runner’s chest, crushing the air out of her lungs. With both hands, she reaches around behind the disabled woman’s neck, and unhooks something. The sound of extending cable makes the runner shiver as she watches the beast pull out a dataslate, slotting a run of line in.

All of a sudden, she knows exactly what’s going on. She got spiked in the neck with a nasty datajack.

“After I’ve got you all nice and scrubbed, you’re gonna make for a hell of a payday.”

There’s no opportunity to retort.

Just a sudden, instantaneous darkness as the runner’s brain crashes hard as the process kill command hits like a sack of bricks.

Being turned off is a lot like sleeping.

No dreams, though. And no conception of time.

The blackness slowly gives way to startup scrolls and code behind the woman’s eyelids. Her first, jolting breath through her nose is suddenly different. Fresh. Clear. Sharp. The filters gone.

A lot is gone. A long parade of missing drivers, disconnected hardware, and disabled software suites.

Terror and anxiety seem to swell in her gut as she slowly opens her eyes, looking left and right. To her empty arm and leg sockets. To the empty spot in her lower spine where her power supply had been locked in. Shivering, she can see power cables running from that spot, to a wall socket.

It takes a few moments to really have it all sink in. What feels like seconds ago, she was a professional infiltrator. A decker and troubleshooter.

And now, she’s nothing but a head and torso, stripped bare and lying on life support on a ratty mattress.

Turning towards the window, she can see the neon of Seattle’s nightlife. Hear the passing of cars and the distant wail of one of Lone Star’s ‘police’ cruisers.

Craning her neck down, the woman sees her reflection in a large mirror on the wall, opposite the end of the bed. She’s naked, disheveled and greasy looking. Her greyish blue hair is rumpled and sticky looking. A pair of fat, cowlike breasts wobble on her chest, several cup sizes larger than they last were.

Her pussy, previously shaven, seems to have at least a month of purple growth, along with her locks.

It’s the flush of a toilet in the adjacent bathroom that tears her away from staring in horrified fascination at her perverted body.

The wolven woman opens the door with her shoulder, yawning and loping casually over to the bed. 

Her mango sized testes bob and slap against her thick, rocky thighs as that glistening red rocket pulses and throbs. Clear prenut drizzles from the tip and patters silently onto the carpeted floor.

In sharp contrast to the obscene, bulging biceps of the terrifyingly jacked beast, her breasts are fat and heavy, clearly implants to accentuate her engineered ‘femininity.’ Heavy, square piercings hang off of each nipple, a matching septum piercing finishing the look of a degenerate street bull. 

Ears flickering, mouth pulled up into a condescending grin, and fluffy white flare cut hair blowing gently in the AC … The beast looked every inch the conqueror.

“I bet you’re wondering what’s going on,” she mocks, reaching out and stroking across the ex-runner’s neck. Her finger seems to leave tingling, arousing sparks of sensation as it passes across her trachea and jugular.

It’s enough to make her gasp and moan, in a voice that’s very much her own.

“Every couple days or so, I like to boot up the archive of your brainwaves my jack took before I put you down. There’s something about the horror and revulsion in your eyes that really gets me …”

She licks her lips, tugging at her own length. It throbs obscenely.

“... Hard.”

The brute slides up onto the bed, on all fours, hulking over her onahole. That bulging, spade tipped length is pressed up against the runner’s juicy, ruined folds.

“But what makes me nut? It’s when that defiant, angry, scared look in your eyes turns into lust. I’ve got your synthetic receptors all cranked up to feel nothing but electrifying pain and pleasure from even the most casual contact …”

Just the hot, pulsing tip is enough to make the onahole squeal softly, her tongue lolling out.

“So be a good sex toy, and just break and beg for me, alright?”

Sneering, she locks eyes with the piece of cybered up meat, and slides in. Fat stinking doggy tongue slobbering and drizzling hotly all over her face as she pants, and starts to pound.

Almost instantly, the onahole’s mouth contorts into an ‘o’ of bliss and terror. Eyes rolling up into her skull as the beast wraps her hands around that slender neck, and starts to rut.

Already the knot is crashing against her folds, wetly squelching with each shuddering impact. Those golden eyes staring down hungrily as she takes in the overwhelmed, jittering expression which spasms across the ruined woman’s face.

Satisfied, her arousal spiking, she ruthlessly works her knot into those ruined folds and savors the silent scream of pained bliss on the purple haired fucksleeve’s face. The spittle dribbling from her lips. The fluttering whites of her eyes. It’s enough to make her nuts tense, and hot, fat ropes of thick nut begin to jet vigorously into her womb.

“Hhh … Nhh …”

The wolf pants, settling down on top of her as that fat bulge of knotflesh plugs up her onahole’s cunt.

“... The thought that one day, I’ll knock up this genuine little womb of yours, too. That’s fucking hot.”

Looking a little pensive, she sneers as she fondles with the back of the onahole’s neck, feeling out the datajack.

“See you in a couple hours for round two, bitch ...” she growls luridly, grunting.

There’s no opportunity to retort.

Just a sudden, instantaneous darkness as the onahole’s brain crashes hard as the process kill command hits like a sack of bricks.

Being turned off is a lot like sleeping.

No dreams, though. And no conception of time.

...

**Author's Note:**

> Yo.
> 
> So as always, I love getting comments and feedback. Shit talk me, let me know what you thought, whether I gave you a good nut, whatever.
> 
> This one was very much about vulnerability and the sort of ... Nuance of how a cybernetic brain would work. It seems like in a good 20 or 30 years from now, it'll be a lot easier to get away with this sort of bizarre shit. Brains are weird and poorly understood, and most of our ability to affect them comes from conditioning and external stimulus. A cybernetic brain on the other hand, would be so much more vulnerable and easier to manipulate by comparison, possibly leading to shit like this.
> 
> Food for thought, right?


End file.
